


The Jeweler's Hands

by pepperminteeth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperminteeth/pseuds/pepperminteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his brother gone off to war and a struggle to make ends meet at home, Mikkel attempts to run away by sea. After a faulty plan he encounters Aleksander, an alluring and rather complex creature that helps Mikkel discover his home where his heart truly is. Mermaid AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One.

Mikkel’s eyelids heaved open with the rough jostle on his arm, a fruitful attempt at waking the heavy sleeper up. He groaned into the darkness of the room as he sat up, the bed creaking loudly beneath him. He gave another hard blink and combed his fingers through blond locks. His older brother, Berwald, tapped his heeled boot on the wooden floor impishly, waiting for his sibling to arise and get dressed. He flicked his eyes over to a small window, white, virgin light from a waxing moon pooled into their home and gave everything a ghastly glow, reminding him that neither of the two were used to awaking so early. He sighed and gave his brother another push. They had no time to waste. They had to get moving before the sun rose.

The younger groaned once more and rose from his bed reluctantly, immediately throwing on old clothes and his velvet, black coat. Berwald stared out the window mindlessly, the only sounds exchanged were heavy sighs of drowsiness and the soft zippering of Mikkel’s tall boots. After he was dressed Berwald signaled his departure with a crack of his knuckles and a soft thud as he opened the front door.

The brother’s had forgotten their oil lamp and the only light to guide them was the moon and the orange tip of Berwald’s cigarette. Smoke billowed out of the corner of his mouth and into Mikkel’s nostrils, which normally he’d whine about.

_Not today._ Mikkel shook his head. _I should let him have his peace._

They made their way to the docks by foot, the cold already reddening their noses and making their faces flush. This would be where Mikkel complained, and yet he remained eerily stoic. The journey was an hours long and rather difficult considering they were only guided by faint silhouettes of familiar landmarks and boats in the distance.

The docks are almost exactly what Mikkel envisioned. Ships bobbed heavily in still waters, iron stairs mounted awkwardly from deck to shore as draftee’s moved stiffly on board and wives and relatives wailed farewells. Captains ordered loudly over the crowds for soldiers to board hastily.

The word stung on Mikkel’s tongue. He looked gravely over at his brother, who’s stone face was masked by darkness and fog. Berwald was not a solider. He may have stood tall and was built like an ox, but he was not meant for war. Defined muscles and callused hands were earned from farm work and fishing, not wielding a weapon or firing a gun. The thought of blood even made his brother nauseous. But as far away as they were in the woods, a drafting letter still managed to make its way onto their doorstep.

_“We could run away!” Mikkel exclaimed, voice shaking on his tongue as his body shook._

_“We both could sail out on a boat and set the house a flame. That way people will think we died in a fire!”_

_Berwald shot him a toxic glare, knuckles whitening into fists as he held the letter in stiff hands. He shook his head in a jerking motion._

_“I have a duty to the kingdom. I have no choice.” He rose from the table and went to pour himself more tea. Mikkel followed suit, wild gestures being thrown about._

_“Don’t have a choice? Do you even know why the Queen called for war? It’s not our fight, Ber. Please listen to-“_

_“You talk too much.” Berwald said stiffly, interrupting Mikkel’s fruitless babbling. Mikkel knew his brother had made up his mind, but he couldn’t bare the news. He sat down on the counter with a thud. He stared down at his lap silently, awkward tension still in the air._

_“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”_

Mikkel was shaken from his flashback with the sound of a loud foghorn, followed by a rush of people running on deck. It was time.

His brother finally faced Mikkel for the first time all morning, eyes hooded and in that same scowl he has always remembered. They stood there for a moment, all noise muffled as if they were submerged in water. Berwald blinked slowly at him, and then in a sudden jolt, hugged him tightly, which immediately filled Mikkel’s eyes with burning tears. He squeezed him tightly and shuddered with muted cries, feeling his heart pound with fear for his sibling. Berwald traced light patterns into his back soothingly, as he always did since they were small. He lifted his head up to meet his brother’s eye, seeing thin glints of wetness on Berwald’s face. He cried harder.

“Promise me… you’ll be okay…” He wheezed out, lips red and trembling. Berwald said nothing but reached into his pocket, pulling out something that glinted in faint light. Mikkel looked at his hands with swollen eyes. It was Berwald’s necklace. It was a detailed ax on a steel chain, the handle of the charm being scripted with a dead Norse language spoken long ago. Right in the center was a polished, blue gem. He had always worn it, even to sleep. Berwald would inquire that it worked miracles for him, and Mikkel would simply roll his eyes and tell him to stop reading so much. He dangled the necklace in front of his eyes and spoke.

“Hope never hurt a soul.” He answered, words ringing into Mikkel’s ears. He looked down at his feet sheepishly and handed him the necklace.

“As long as I’m in your heart mine will still be beating, okay?” He said slowly, closing Mikkel’s hand around the charm. Berwald always had a weird way of wording things, but Mikkel hated to admit he would miss that. He began to cry again and pulled in for another hug.

“I love you, Ber.”

“I love you too, Mickey.” Berwald said softly, clutching on tightly to the material of his brother’s coat. They parted with another sound of the horn. They gave each other the same, sickly look and knew that it was time to leave. Berwald gave a quick, lingering kiss to Mikkel’s temple and walked towards the docks, shuffling with his head hung low.

Mikkel stood motionless as the ramps began to fold back onto the boats, and a chorus of waves and goodbyes reverberated from the crowds as the boats parted docks and into the frigid, murky seas. He stood there for a good hour, staring off into the horizon until the docks were empty and the ships were blended in with the distance. The sun began to peak up in the North, bleeding into the sky to create a soft purple amongst the clouds. Mikkel looked down at his palm to see the charm, the gem in the middle shining back at him in almost a taunting way. He ran his thumb over the cool stone of the ax, his eyes clouding once more. He shook his head violently. He was too tired to cry.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mikkel brought the necklace up to his face, then slipped his head through the chain and tucked the charm into his coat, the coldness of the pendant pricking his chest. He averted his eyes back towards the sea, the waves beginning to bounce slightly against the dock poles and shoreline. A sea breeze brushed against his cheeks. He often compared his brother to the sea, him as a person being much more than a sharp and frigid surface, for underneath most was uncharted and complex. He would always joke to him he also smelled of fish much like the sea, which would earn him a playful jab in the ribs. He smiled in spite of himself, feeling an odd wave of nostalgia and bitter depression twist in his stomach.

“Please be safe for me, Ber.” He breathed, taking in one last eyeful of the ocean before turning on his heel and heading back home. Mikkel swallowed loudly.

_Hope never hurt a soul._


	2. Two.

He walked into town when the sun barely broke the horizon and spilled its warm glow across the sky. Mikkel hummed a songless tune behind a grinning mouth, walking with that silent stride always predominant. He swung the small sack by his side slightly with each step down the narrow road. No one was outside when he arrived, the only sound there being was the susurration of the trees and light chatter of birds. Stone roofs were lightly caked with frost and the cobblestone floors glistened slightly with fallen rain. It was unusually quiet, eerie even.

 _Just early, probably._ Mikkel thought with a shrug, making his way to the leftmost path and going down a slight dip. The path was isolated behind a sullen row of housings that stood like crooked soldiers. The path was now dirt and he kicked it up slightly with his boots as he approached a small cottage, written crudely was the words _TRADING POST_ in black paint on a picket sign. Edelweiss sat frozen and wilting in the window sills and the windows gave of a lukewarm, yellow glow.

Mikkel approached the door with a low whistle and gave the rusted knob a turn, stepping inside to be greeted by a stout, aging woman. Her hair was grey and thinning, and her face twisted into a slight scowl when she caught eye of the smiling man. She coughed loudly and rose from behind the desk.

“Shut the door, Jensen.” She barked, wagging a finger at Mikkel. “And make it quick. ‘Sposed to be having fishermen come in any minute.”

Mikkel obliged and shut the door with a soft _bang_ , sauntering over to the counter and placing his gloved palms flat on the unpolished ebony. The small satchel in his left hand clinked slightly on the impact. He beamed down at her and spoke with jocose.

“You are going to _love_ what I have for you today!” Mikkel sang, eagerly opening the small bag and letting its contents spill over the counter with soft jingles. A few rings, blessed charms and a necklace laid out in front of him, all seemingly handcrafted. Some had small, colored stones and some were plain. The lady looked down at the jewelry and frowned deeper.

“You brought more witch junk, I see.” She said with an unmistakable malice. Mikkel shook off her detest as confusion, however, and simply shook his head and smiled wider.

“They’re charms! Blessed by yours truly. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?”

The woman curled her lip up slightly, making Mikkel slightly grimace. He laughed nervously and picked up a ring and held it between his fingers. He took his other hand and pointed to the silver width of the ring.

“Look closely enough and see that there’s little symbols carved into it. This one is for courage, meaning whoever wars it will be blessed with it!” He said while slightly shoving the ring in the woman’s face, only for her to snort and shove it away.

“Sounds like witchcraft to me. Casting spells on people.” She said tartly, snatching up one of the charms on the desk and holding it up with disgust. Mikkel shrunk under the woman’s sneer, causing his spine to prick cold. He lifted up his hand and shook it.

“No no, ma’am, you’ve got it all wrong! It is more of a mental thing really-“

The woman slammed her hand abruptly on the desk with a reverberating noise. Mikkel jumped slightly and bit his tongue. She silently reached her hand underneath the counter and placed three nuggets of silver on the counter. Mikkel gulped slightly, knowing that she wasn’t going to give him a decent price.

“This is as high as I’ll go.” She said in monotone. “Be glad I’m even considering buying your devil’s work.”

Mikkel didn’t bother to argue, regardless how stubborn he may be. He took the three pieces of silver in silence and headed out the door, muttering a goodbye before slamming the door behind him. He looked up at the sky and blinked, it being a melancholy shade of grey now with a thin layer of pale clouds. He looked down at his three pieces of profit in his palm, clutching them crossly before shoving them into his pocket and making his way back up hill. Only a few people stood outside in the center of the village, none of course acknowledging him. They rarely did.

Mikkel walked a bit through the bare field before he reached the docks, the air smelling faintly of salt and stuck heavy on his face. Only a small sail boat was seen in the distance and nothing more. The old wood of the docks were slightly damp. Mikkel shook his head and sighed. He might as well sit by the water and clear his head, it beat sitting alone at the house.

He walked over onto the old planks with soft clicks of his heels and the water receding beneath him. He came over to the edge and sat down, swinging his legs over the edge so that he dangled. No one ever comes to the docks unless it was fishing season, and even then it was usually vacant. Mikkel stared down at the murky water beneath him. It remained eerily still beneath him, clearly seeing his silhouette loom up at him. Water lapped gently against the wooden pillars of the docks with a hypnotic noise. Usually the sounds and smell of the sea peeled the edge off Mikkel, but today it was hollow and seemed to cling heavily to his body. He would never outright admit it to himself, but he was miserable.

Mikkel balled his hands together and groaned, bringing them up to his forehead and leaning against them. Things had been changing lately, and not for the better. Money and food had been scarce for months now, and it started to show on his body. His stomached had started to dip inward and his skin clinged tightly against his ribs in a decaying manor. His wrists began to grow small and shoulders less broad, all signs that he was becoming lithe from malnutrition. But that was all easy to hide from others. Where it really showed was his face. Smooth and even chiseled features began to grow awkwardly sharp and sickly, his own jaw seeming to hang by thin strips of albicant skin on the sides of his face. His eyes were evidently strained from sleepless nights of work with little profit. The soft turquoise of Mikkel’s irises had glossed over with mixed emotion and were nestled in the middle of dark circles. And yet, after looking like a corpse, Mikkel still managed to flash a booming smile. Not as a mask, no. He bore it for himself. He wanted to fool himself into optimism that everything was going just fine.

As thick headed as Mikkel was claimed to be, however, the wall he tried to pull over his eyes began to grow thin. He knew he was struggling. And he also knew that he had no one to resort to. No one in town even gave him a prying eye, they all simply stuck up their noses and bore silent sneers. They all hated him. His brother had told him that point blank many moons ago.

_“It’s because we’re jewelers.” Berwald said flatly, peeling the covers off of his bed and crawling under them. Mikkel rolled onto his side and knitted his brows. He used his elbow to prop his head up to stare at his brother in the dim light of their bedroom. Berwald didn’t meet his eye as he slipped his glasses off and put them on the nightstand between their beds._

_“So what?” Mikkel said rather loudly, waving a hand up for emphasis._

_“How could they all hate us for something as silly as that? Do they not all like pretty jewelry or something?”_

_Berwald shook his head and sighed, combing fingers through his choppy, blonde hair. He let his head hit the pillow with a soft thud and gazed up at the ceiling. Berwald brought his arms up and folded them behind his head._

_“They see it as evil what we do. All the blessings and such. Something against their God’s will. They think we worship the Devil or something.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes at the mention of ‘evil’. Mikkel’s face twisted into a look of disgust._

_“That’s ridiculous! Why should some guy make everyone think a certain way?” He said with a curl of his lip. He narrowed his gaze and pouted. He flopped onto his back in defeat and squeezed his eyes tight. His head hurt with irritation._

_“Hey, Ber?”_

_“Hm.”_

_“Why aren’t we Catholic?”_

_Silence fell in the room for a second, the only sound being the soft scratching of Mikkel’s cheek. Mikkel’s back went stiff with a cold jolt. Should he had asked? After all, it did seem to be a touchy subject around the household. When the church bells rung softly on Sundays all Berwald would do was shake his head and grimace, then lock himself in his workshop with no sounds to be heard. Mikkel’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his brother clearing his throat._

_“I don’t want to put my own morals and choices in the hands of something I do not know is real.” He said with a low rumble of his throat. Mikkel turned his head to face his brother and twisted his mouth._

_“What about all those faerie tales? You don’t know if any of that is real.” He saw Berwald shrug underneath his sheets._

_“Those stories don’t tell me how to live my life. There comes no harm in thinking there’s some truth behind him. Now, changing who you are as a person just to please something that you don’t know is real, I find that stupid.” And with that Berwald turned to the wall and remained silent the whole night, however Mikkel could tell that he was not sleeping._

Mikkel felt something cool press against his forehead, feeling of polished metal. He lifted his head up to be greeted with the glint of one of his rings. He hadn’t taken it off from this morning. Mikkel stared at it blankly and brushed gloved fingertips over the inscription, the odd symbols looking like heavenly script to anyone who may pass by. But Mikkel knew what it meant. Berwald had taught him. His face turned a sickly green color while gazing at the ring. How could such a little thing render so much malice? So much boiling _hatred_? It was the isolation that killed him the most. The frigid shoulders and short words, and how his shoes echoed with an empty feeling wherever he went. Mikkel felt trapped by the chains of his town. He wanted to feel the warmth of another’s heat against his own cold skin. He wanted to share a warming conversation with someone, one where he could exchange heartfelt laughs and playful banter. But most of all, Mikkel just wanted to feel alive again.

Mikkel casted his gaze out to the sea, blinking slowly while slipping the ring off of his finger and clutching it in a tight fist. He looked at the weak waves far off the shore, how they roamed freely amongst the ocean with lukewarm effort to ripple the water. He wished to be like the waves. Wild and unpredictable with everlasting jocose to live. He wanted to be _free._

He took one last look at the ring in his hand before tossing it far into the sea, it causing a weak ripple. Mikkel stood up silently with a soft wobble before he became balanced. Mikkel stuck a hand underneath his coat before pulling out Berwald’s necklace, that familiar gem glinting at him in a mocking manor. He smiled in spite of himself, running his finger over the charm.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said with a laugh. Mikkel turned on his heels and headed into the forest to his cabin, trying to remember where they had stored away that old boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating. School work has me up to my neck! I am deeply sorry for the blasphemy in this chapter, I have nothing against Catholics and their beliefs. This is simply for plot development. it will be a repeating theme so you have been warned. I'll update next week!

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter work I've done, so let's hope it all works out! Chapters will be published weekly unless noted. All feedback is appreciated, and make sure to check out my other works! Thanks!


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